"You have done enough, Scott; why can't you keep still now, and let the thing take its course?" added Beckwith, in an insinuating tone.
"And let Cantwell slip up, you mean?"
"What do you care for Cantwell? You don't like him any better than any other fellow. If you will only keep still, the chairman of the committee will simply represent to the principal that a majority of the students desire the change," persisted Beckwith.
"And the next question he will ask will be, how the vote stood. If he don't ask it, he isn't the fair man I have always taken him to be. Besides, the chairman put me on that committee to represent the opinions of the minority; and I'm going to do it."
"The opinions of the minority!" sneered Beckwith. "That is all bosh. They haven't any opinions about it. You made your ridiculous speech as a joke, and the minority took it up as a joke. They don't want Cantwell to be captain any more than we do."
"That may be; but if they cut his nose off now, they may cut off their own next month, just to make a soft thing for you nobs in the cabin. Now, I want to tell you one thing, Becky—"
"Don't call me Becky; I'm not a girl," interposed the first master.
"I beg your pardon: Mr. Beckwith."
"I don't ask you to call me mister when off duty, either. You wanted to tell me one thing."